


Causing Confusion, Disturbing The Peace

by pyrimidine



Series: Music in Theater [1]
Category: Generation Kill
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-24
Updated: 2012-06-24
Packaged: 2017-11-08 10:40:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/442321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pyrimidine/pseuds/pyrimidine





	Causing Confusion, Disturbing The Peace

It's Q-Tip's turn to pick a song, so of course Christeson has been waiting patiently for at least three klicks. The thing about Q-Tip is that he makes decisions as quickly as any other Marine when they're in the shit, but he always takes for-fucking-ever mulling over the little things, like whether he wants the MRE or the humrat, or if he should double-knot his boots, or which song to sing for the billionth time.    
  
Mostly he just ends up turning to his default songs anyway, which is either 'Can I Get A...' by Jay-Z or anything off  _Nellyville_ .   
  
"Jesus," Christeson finally says. They've been bumping along a sideroad all morning, nothing but sand and sky in sight. He lowers his rifle and turns to see if Q-Tip has actually fallen asleep or something.   
  
"Yo, man, choosing songs is an art, alright?" Q-Tip is hunched over a little, hands curled over his weapon as he frowns into the distance. Christeson can't tell if he's scanning for enemy fire or mentally trying to dig up rap hits of the past decade.   
  
He decides it's the latter when Q-Tip's expression relaxes into a lopsided smile as he nods to himself a few times. "Moooooooove,  _bitch_ , get out the way," he starts, letting his jaw hang low around the vowels. "Get out the way, bitch, get out the way!"   
  
Christeson automatically smiles and nods along with the imaginary beat. He waits until the repeat to chime in and they're almost to the end of the chorus when he realizes that there's a third voice blending smoothly with theirs, so soft and mumbled that it's almost unnoticeable. He wonders if he's imagining it, if maybe all that artillery going off at such close ranges has permanently damaged his ears, but then Q-Tip trails off and looks toward the front of the truck.   
  
"Shit, Gunny, is that you?" he asks incredulously.   
  
Gunny laughs in response, the sound warm and gravelly as the truck bumps through a rough patch of road. Christeson bounces around, catching a glimpse of the sideview mirror and its reflection, the LT's dirt-smeared face and his wide smile.   
  
"No way," Christeson says to himself.   
  
Gunny's still laughing, slumped against the wheel as if it's one of those things that just gets funnier as it sinks in. Either that, or he's got the giggles that start bubbling up for no reason at around thirty hours with no sleep. "Sorry to disappoint, but I don't know any songs that have to do with moving bitches, or telling bitches to move, or just bitches in general," he finally coughs out.   
  
Christeson stretches his leg and manages to nudge Q-Tip with the toe of his boot. "I think it was the LT, man."   
  
"No fucking way," Q-Tip counters, but he leans forward, raises his voice, and calls, "Yo LT, that was  _you_ ? Have you been holding out on me all this time?"   
  
"Sorry, Stafford. Forgot where I was for a second," the LT answers over his shoulder.   
  
"Wait, what? So are you saying you know the song or what?"   
  
The radio crackles just then, and Q-Tip settles back as the LT shakes his head and seamlessly transitions from talking about rap music to rattling off coordinates to Encino Man in a low voice. "Fucking LT, man," Q-Tip says with a grin.   
  
Christeson just says, "Yup." He's still sort of hung up on what the LT had said before, and is trying to think of a context in which the LT would have sung along to Ludacris almost subconsciously. Maybe in like, a dorm room or something, when he was doing homework and shit. It's weird to think about.   
  
"Damn, now I gotta come up with a song that has three parts," Q-Tip is saying.   
  
Christeson blinks. He re-grips his rifle, hefting it more securely in his grip. "Yeah, sure. We'll probably have invaded Baghdad and gone home before that happens," he replies, then laughs and leans away when Q-Tip kicks his leg out and tells him to shut up.   
  
They drive on.


End file.
